


i'm fine (as every hurt person once said)

by strandedonthemoon



Series: does it ever get better? (a journey through self-harm) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Recovery, Self-Harm, The Author Wishes Her Readers The Recovery They Deserve, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 15:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedonthemoon/pseuds/strandedonthemoon
Summary: Tony hated to say that he saw it coming. He could see, in his peripheral vision, Peter's eyes drooping shut in sleep deprivation as he worked. He could see him scratch his arm where his cuts would go if he relapsed. He could see him have to force a smile or a laugh sometimes. But he thought the younger boy would come to him when things got too tough. He thought that he would come before the storm could hit.Reading the previous part is very very highly recommended. You probably won't get this otherwise.





	i'm fine (as every hurt person once said)

**Author's Note:**

> it's sad bitch hours again! I can't stop projecting how I feel and my personal life into my characters, so this is going to be a series.
> 
> also, I didn't edit through this. excuse the mistakes. I'll go over it tomorrow.
> 
> tw: self-harm. lots of it. this fic deals with some heavy fucking crap. stay safe, babies.

Peter didn't plan on showing up the next day. 

Not like he ever thought he would, though. He knew he wasn't going to the minute he closed the fucking phone.

He also knew that Tony would probably be disappointed in him, but he was so numb he didn't care.

It was a Thursday when Peter woke up, alarm blaring. It felt like a Saturday, so he decided to treat it as one. He shut off his alarm and prayed to the gods above that May had already left for work.

An hour later, his aunt had yet to show up, so he concluded that she had, in fact, already left for work and he was home alone. Thank god. He didn't want to deal with anything today. 

Peter forced himself out of bed and to his computer to send an email to Midtown about his absence- through May's email, of course- before going to the living room and turning on the TV for some background noise. A pack of cigarettes was stuffed under the cushions where he usually kept them.

He took out a cigarette. Twirled it around his finger. Wondered how it would feel if he pressed it on his skin when he lit it. He briefly toyed with the idea of doing it before shaking his head. Nah. Cutting was his thing. Blades. Blood. No need to steer away from that now. He got up to find a match. 

When he found the box of matches, he thought about how he could pretend his finger was a cigarette and light that.

Maybe he wasn't a cigarette. Maybe he was a bomb. Maybe he would explode. 

Peter immediately felt guilty. No. _No_. He doesn't want to die. No matter how much he thought about it, he didn't want to die.

He accepted the sad thoughts, the guilt thoughts, and, hell, even the self-harm thoughts, because they were probably in the wide and vast spectrum of psychological normality. But suicide thinking wasn't. He knew that, at least. 

Suicide thinking means there's something wrong with him. 

But he was fine. Fine, fine, fine, so fucking fine, because he was Spider-man, for fuck's sake. A superhero. An Avenger (of some sort). He couldn't be anything but fine. People depended on him to be fine; people depended on him to be _alive_. The very least he could do was live for them. 

Wasn't he supposed to live for himself, though? Wasn't that what everyone said? _Your life is only worth something if it's lived for yourself_ and _the only person who's supposed to care about your life is you_ and _you're the only person that will remain a constant in your own life._

Well, fuck that. Peter didn't give two shits about his life and where it ended up. Probably in a ditch somewhere. Probably in hell, with all the other murderers and suicidées. 

Technically, since he was practically both, would he go to hell twice?

Peter's thoughts drifted to his Uncle Ben. Laying there, too still, except for his blood...

You'd think Peter wouldn't like the sight of blood after that. And he didn't, to an extent. He only liked the sight of his own. Almost like a release. Like a punishment. Like maybe he'll self-harm enough to anger God and go to hell so he can finally pay for what he did. Or what he didn't do. What he didn't stop. 

Peter took a long drag from his third cigarette, then looked down at the other two discarded ones.

When did he even light them? He couldn't remember doing that. 

He looked at the TV, which he had apparently turned off. He turned it back on again. 

But then the noise was too much, so he turned it back off. 

But then it was too quiet, and his mind was starting to talk again, so he turned the TV back on and turned up the volume all the way up and hopes that his brain would just _fucking shut up_ for once in his life. 

His mind compromised. Instead of thinking about death, in the many forms it has entered his life, he though about school. 

School, school, school, fucking school. He's going to have to catch up on what he missed today because he was being a lazy piece of shit. He has to figure out an excuse to tell Ned and MJ, because he hasn't gotten sick once since the bite so they would never believe him if he said that. He has to hand in his biology homework. He has to do his fucking biology homework, first, though. And all this, because he didn't want to get out of his stupid fucking bed and eat his stupid fucking breakfast and leave his stupid fucking house and take his stupid fucking Chemistry test that he can't even study for, for fuck's sake, dammit-

A stinging pain shot through Peter's thigh. He looked down to see that in the midst of his thoughts, he had pressed the cigarette onto his leg. He was still doing that now. 

Peter didn't even think twice about the pain, or infection, or anything like that. He just thought, _pain makes my brain stop talking._

He pressed the cigarette down harder onto his thigh, and when that stopped working and his leg was bleeding too much for it to really hurt, he got up, took his razor from the bathroom, and left the house. 

 

* * *

 

Tony was waiting in the lab for Peter. 

School should've let out by now, so he was probably going to be at the compound in an hour or something. The older man was trying to distract himself in the meantime. 

Peter... Peter freaked him out yesterday. A lot. He couldn't really sleep after that phone call, and it took him all of his willpower not to show up at the kid's window and whisk him away to a place where nothing hurts. But he couldn't do that. So he researched instead. How to talk to him about this, what do, who to take him to, all that jazz. It didn't really help considering he's read those articles millions of times before, but he couldn't help but do so anyway. 

Tony hated to say that he saw it coming. He could see, in his peripheral vision, Peter's eyes drooping shut in sleep deprivation as he worked. He could see him scratch his arm where his cuts would go if he relapsed. He could see him have to force a smile or a laugh sometimes. But he thought the younger boy would come to him when things got too tough. He thought that he would come before the storm could hit. 

Not only did the storm hit, but it didn't seem like Peter was going to do anything about it if Tony didn't notice his vitals and call. 

Tony was trying not to worry. Even though he knows Peter took his watch off hours ago. Even though he still hasn't put it back on. 

He was trying very, very hard not to worry. 

Especially when FRIDAY alerted him of an incoming phone call from Happy. 

"Hey, Happy. What-"

"The kid isn't at school."

Tony blinked. "What?"

"The kid isn't at school, Tony. His school let out almost twenty minutes ago, but he wasn't showing up, so I went into the reception and they said he never came in."

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit._ "Was May informed?"

"They said May sent an email-"

"May would've called them." A heavy pit settled in Tony's stomach. 

"Exactly."

Both men stayed silent. The older man began pacing around the room, because _shit, shit, shit, fuck, dammit._

"He's probably fine, right?" Tony asked, trying to ease his nerves. 

"Yeah. Probably. You should call May, though, just in case."

"I should do that. Stay around the area, alright? So you're nearby if something happened." 

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Tony didn't hesitate to call May after, anxiously walking around the room. 

Him and May have gotten... close, to say the least. They've both become very in tune to Peter's life after the Vulture incident, so they're almost like a platonically married couple. It's not even a stretch to say that him and May are friends. So having her contact number on his personal phone was normal.

"Hey, Tony," May's voice sounded after the third ring. There wasn't any background noise, so she must be on a break. "What's up? Is it a lab day today?"

"Not exactly. Is Peter at school?"

"He's supposed to be, yeah. Why?"

 _Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit_. "He isn't at school, May. The school got an email from you excusing his absence."

May's voice came out anxious when she spoke next. "W-What?"

"Yeah. He took off his watch hours ago, so it'll be useless to try and track that."

"His phone?"

Tony turned to look at the ceiling. "FRIDAY, can you track Peter's phone?"

"Of course, Boss."

He turned his attention back to his phone. "FRIDAY's doing that now."

"Where do you think he is?"

"I-I don't know." Guilt settled into the man's stomach, because, God, he should've done something else yesterday. Picked the kid up, let him swing over, whatever. Something. He shouldn't have left him upset. This was his fault. 

"He called me yesterday night," Tony began. "Peter, I mean. He didn't seem like he was doing too well."

May stayed silent on the other end, so Tony continued. "He relapsed. I was-I told him to swing by the lab today to talk about this, but I-I-"

"It isn't your fault, Tony."

"He's gone, May. Obviously upset, too."

"He could still be at home."

Tony could tell May didn't believe that. He didn't, either. "Yeah."

"Boss?" FRIDAY sounded. "Peter's phone seems to be at the Parker apartment."

A spark of hope coursed though him. "His phone's at home, May." 

The woman exhaled. "Good. Great. I don't think I should be the one to call him, since he reached out to you yesterday."

"Bu-"

"No buts, Tony. You call him. Have Happy pick him up. I'll catch a cab to the compound now."

"A cab? I'll send you a driver, for God's sake."

"It'll be an hour before it even gets here, Tony. I'll just catch a cab."

"I'll pay for it, then."

"Sure. I'll be there soon."

"Okay. Bye May."

"See you later."

When the phone call ended, Tony tried to call Peter, but all he got was his voicemail. 

" _Hey. This is Peter._ " the answering machine said. " _Parker. If you're hearing this then I probably didn't answer my phone... What? No... I always answer my phone, Tony... Maybe I just don't answer to you_." Peter's laugh sounded, and Tony's heart tugged. " _Well, anyways, leave a message after the-_ "

 _Beep_. 

The man sighed. Any hope he had of Peter being home diminished. 

He texted Happy anyway. 

_Tony: the kid might be home. go check and see._

His phone dinged immediately. 

_Happy: On it, Boss._

God, he hoped the kid was alright. 

 

* * *

 

Peter didn't know where he was. 

In the back of his mind, he knew he was probably at a house party somewhere, maybe in the suburbs, but that would be crazy, because who throws a house party on a Thursday night, and how did he even get to the suburbs? That's so fucking far from Queens. 

Maybe he was at a bar. Or a club. But he's fucking seventeen; he wouldn't even be let into a bar or a club. The lights were too bright to really tell anyways.

There was so much noise. So much. It made Peter want to cry.

He couldn't even remember how he got here. He couldn't remember anything before this.

"You okay, man?" a pretty voice asked. It was really loud. 

Peter looked up to see a girl, her dark eyes glazed in concern. Her hair was long. It was in many braids. _Box-braids,_ he thought distantly. 

"I like y'ur hair," Peter said before he can stop himself. He's not sure if the girl blushed or not. Her skin was too dark to really tell. 

"Thanks. I like yours."

The boy shrugged, the movement jerky. "Mine is sh'rt. Y'urs is r'lly, r'lly long. Like R'punz'l."

The girl laughed a little, but her eyebrows were crinkled. "You here with anyone?"

"No." He shook his head. "H've no one."

"I know that ain't true, man." She sat beside him on the floor (when did he get to the floor?). "What's your name?"

"Peter."

"Hi Peter. I'm Nathania."

"Y'ur name is pr'tty. Pr'tty voice, too. R'minds me 'f my fr'nd. H'r name is MJ."

"Want me to call her?"

Peter quickly shook his head. He tipped to the side a little, but before he could fall, Nathania caught him.

"Why not?"

"My 'rm's b'eeding." He didn't know how he knew that, so he rolled his sleeve up to check. Sure enough, there were multiple cuts bleeding from his arm. There were some burns, too. Some were already beginning to heal, but most were just bleeding profusely. 

He turned to Nathania. "See?"

Her eyes were a fraction wider than before. "You do this often?"

"Sometimes. W's clean two m'nths, then I rel'psed y'st'rday."

"I think you should call someone, Peter." She took her phone out and handed it to him, but he just shook his head. 

"C'n't."

"Why not?"

"I'm sc'red."

"Ain't this scarier, though?"

He looked at his arm, then at his surroundings. At all the people he didn't know and the noise he couldn't hear and the place he's never been in. He looked at Nathania, who was staring at him with an intense amount of concern. He looked at the phone.

He nodded before he could help it. "Yeah."

She smiled sadly at him. "Let's call someone, alright?"

"C'll Happy," Peter slurred. "He n'ver p'cked up bef're, but n'w he alw'ys does."

"Do you know Happy's number?"

"Alw'ys."

 

* * *

 

It's been four hours since Tony found out Peter's missing. He's been driving around aimlessly, hoping to find the kid. He isn't at home. He isn't patrolling in his suit. He wasn't at school. He wasn't anywhere. 

They were all getting frantic. May was at the compound in case he showed up, and him and Happy were looking for him on the streets. 

He tried not to think too much about where Peter was or what he's doing. If he was okay. God, Tony hoped he was okay. 

A loud shrill cut through the silence. It was his phone, an incoming call from Happy. He immediately picked it up. 

"Happy?"

"We found him, Tony."

 

* * *

  

Peter couldn't remember how he got here. But he knew it was a part of home. 

 

* * *

 

 When Tony burst into the Medbay, he prepared for the worse. 

Clearly he hadn't prepared enough. 

Peter was sitting on the hospital bed with May, leaning heavily on her side, wearing nothing but a ragged sweater and pajama pants, despite it being forty-one degrees outside. Happy was sitting across him, holding the boy's right hand. His left sleeve was rolled up to reveal a series of deep cuts and burns, currently being cleaned by Dr. Cho. There was a bloodstain on his right leg. A vomit basket was stationed in front of him. His shoulders were shaking, and May kept hugging him and whispering something Tony couldn't really hear from where he was. There were tears in her eyes.

Tony didn't think twice. He walked up to the bed and sat beside Peter, wrapping his arms around him. May looked up at him and tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace. 

"I-I-I'm so-sorry," Peter sobbed as Tony shuffled closer. He squeezed Peter tighter. As if he could reduce the world to just him and Peter and May and Happy with a tight hug. 

"Shh," May was saying, "Nothing to be sorry for, alright?"

"I-I hurt-I hurt me. I-I hurt _you_."

Tony's heart broke. He rested his forehead on top of Peter's curls, hoping the kid couldn't feel his tears. "Kid, you didn't hurt us."

"I-I know it-it hurts you g-guys when I-wh-when I hurt me."

May looked at the boy incredulously. "Peter..."

" _I-I'm sorry._ "

Happy leaned forward, resting his head on Peter's hand. 

The younger boy continued to shake as ragged sobs coursed through him, and Tony and May could do nothing but hold him as he shattered in their arms.

"You're alright, kid," Tony whispered, kissing the top of Peter's head. He tried not to let his voice break. "You're alright."

"I-I can't-oh god."

Happy's head immediately shot up, and he shoved the basket under Peter's chin just as a wave of vomit came out. The older man's eyes filled with tears. 

"So-Sorry."

Tony held onto Peter tighter. "I love you, kid." He kissed the top of his head again. "Love you so much."

"Me, too, baby," May added. 

"Me, too," Happy interjected.

Peter just sobbed harder, but they understood. 

Somewhere during the course of the night, Peter's arm got bandaged and Dr. Cho had left, only coming back when Peter had fallen asleep. He was still in Tony and May's embrace. Happy was still holding his hand. 

"So," the doctor whispered. "It looks like most of the drugs are out of his system."

"Drugs?" Tony asked. He turned to May, who nodded slowly. Her eyes were glassy.

"It seems that Peter took a good amount of Advil. Almost fifty pills."

Tony choked. He felt like he was going to throw up. "Wh-What? He-but-he's supposed to be-"

"Dead? Yeah," Happy said. "You can thank his metabolism that he's still alive."

The older man turned to Peter, who looked halfway dead. His skin was waxy and pale, eyes puffy, breathing ragged, and he let his heart break for him, because, god, this kid's been through so fucking much. So much. Tony let the tears fall as he hugged Peter closer. 

"The worse is of his injuries are taken care of. Nothing got infected, thankfully."

"What can we do to help?" May asked. Her eyes were desperate. 

May and Dr. Cho shared a look, and the doctor's eyes softened. She was a mother, too, after all. 

"Be there for him when he wakes up. God knows he'll need it."

Tony looked at Peter. And he promised himself that, no matter what, he was going to be there. No matter how much it hurt, he was going to stick by this kid's side forever. He was going to love him like no father ever loved his son. 

"We can do that."

 

* * *

 

Peter woke up surrounded by love. 

**Author's Note:**

> it hurt to write this. a lot. I did a lot of crying.
> 
> also, does this even count as hurt/comfort? it just feels like hurt to me.
> 
> kudos and comment?
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
